Like Night and Day
by Sk8er Chica
Summary: Chavez and Serena don't get quite what they expected when they take in a troubled boy from the streets.
1. Chapter 1: Cyluss Fitzwilliam

DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!

A/N: It's been a while since my last YG fic, but I was recently struck by a muse to write one. I plan it to be a short postscript to "Rampaging Riddle," told once again from the perspective of Serena. Hope y'all enjoy it.

* * *

April 1st, 1880 

Today began normally enough. Chavez and I decided to make the trip to Albuquerque for a shopping trip. Of course there are stores in Lincoln, but Albuquerque has a wider selection. Listen to me; I sound like a regular stuck-up housewife, (which, I can assure you, I'm not). Anyway, since going to Albuquerque was something of a special occasion, I chose to dress more like a proper woman: a simple white shirtwaist and a plain brown skirt.  
Like always, I used my husband's bandanna to tie back my hair and I secreted a knife in my boot, so you could say my skirt was where convention stopped.

Chavez and I hitched our dun workhorse to the buckboard wagon and set off. The journey passed as quickly as it usually did and without incident. When we arrived in the main street of Albuquerque, Chavez stopped the wagon, got out first, and extended his hand to help me get out. It's funny. Chavez knows I can throw knives harder, ride a horse longer, and track somebody farther than any man in Lincoln County, but he's always so damn polite and chivalrous. Not that I mind terribly.

"I need to stop at the feed store to get some more grain for the horses," Chavez told me. "Can you think of anything else we need to get?"

"Apples, butter, flour, eggs..." I trailed off, noticing the broad grin on his face. "What?"

"I bet I can guess what we're having for supper tonight." he said. "Apple pie." I shook my head. "Apple dumplings."

"Exactly."

Chavez rubbed his stomach hungrily. "Those are my favorite, _Querida_."

"Hey, if I didn't know that after cooking for John Tunstall and the rest of you guys for three years, I'd be a sad case," I said. "And speaking of sweets, I'm gonna head down the road to the sweetshop. We're low on candy and cakes back at the house."

I had only developed a sweet tooth in recent years, something I guessed was born of riding with the Lincoln Regulators. Billy the Kid sure loved his sweets, a trait that eventually rubbed off on all of us.

"Are you sure you'll be all right on your own?" Chavez asked as I turned to walk away. In reply, I lifted up my skirt just enough to reveal the knife hilt protruding from my boot. "Right." he mumbled. "I forgot who I was talking to."

I walked back to Chavez and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll meet you at the wagon in about half an hour." I promised.  
-----  
After exiting the sweetshop with few bags of gumballs, mints, and toffees, I started to make my way back to where I'd seen Chavez park the wagon. There was a crowd of people gathered on the station platform of the train station, a crowd so large I could scarcely get through. A train pulled by a big black engine sat steaming beside the platform, a line of children of varying ages exited it nervously. Smiling women rushed forward with their husbands to great their new charges. I watched them sadly, wishing with all my heart that Tommy O'Folliard had found this kind of happy ending in New Mexico.

Gradually, the new mothers took the children away, the childrens' meager belongings carried by the new father. The crowd thinned and I was able to take in one of the passengers. A burly conductor was escorting a boy down the corridor of the train. The boy was dressed in a secondhand suit, a tattered bowler covered a head of light brown curls. The boy looked about thirteen years old, but very small and skinny for his age. Gold-rimmed spectacles flashed in the sunlight, occasionally hidden from view by the book the boy's nose was buried in.

'_I bet the kid's from a wealthy family and had those before he got to the orphanage,' _I thought. From what little Tommy had shared with me, I'd gleaned that little things like poor eyesight were overlooked by orphanage owners. Most of them just wanted to get the kids out of their hair as quickly as possible.

"Move it along, son!" growled the conductor.

The boy's brown eyes never left the pages of the book he was carrying. The conductor wasn't pleased by this at all. He swung one of his massive arms into the boy, knocking him off balance. He tumbled down the train's steps and landed hard on the platform. I immediately rushed forward, and as usual, my temper got the better of me.

"You fat bastard!" I screamed at the conductor. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"What did you say to me, girly?" said the conductor, baring his tobacco-stained teeth at me.

"I called you a fat bastard," I said. Even though I hardly came up to his waist, the guy didn't intimidate me. I'd dealt with worse dirtbags in my day.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chavez walking past, shouldering a heavy sack of feed corn. He took one look at me, dropped the bag of corn, and came over to me.

"What seems to be the problem?" Chavez asked lightly.

"That yellow-bellied bastard threw that poor kid down the stairs," I said.

"This whore's got a real fine mouth on her," said the conductor, pointing a finger in my face.

I saw a red flush enter Chavez's dark cheeks. "_Never _call my wife a whore again," he said, drawing his knife and waving it threateningly.

The conductor looked from the knife to me and back to the kid that was still lying on the platform. He scampered back to the safety of the train like a frightened mouse. Now that he was out of the way, Chavez and I moved to check on the boy. He whimpered quietly as I put my hand on his back.

"It's all right," I said in a soothing voice. "You're safe now. Did he hurt you?"

"No," the boy replied, picking himself up.

What I could see of his face belied his words. He must have landed on his glasses when he fell, because blood was trickling from his eyebrow. I motioned to Chavez; he produced a handkerchief from his pocket. I leaned in to mop up the boy's face, but he ducked his head so I couldn't reach. I put my hand under his chin to make him look up and choked back a gasp. There was a bump on his forehead, a half-healed cut on his ear, bruises on his face, and his bottom lip was split. These injuries couldn't just be from the fall; somebody had beat this kid half to hell.

"Please let me help you," I said. "Tell me your name."

"I'm...I'm...a m-mistake," the boy stammered.

Chavez shook his head solemnly. "The Great Spirit makes no mistakes, little one."

The boy stood quietly for a minute, trying to digest this concept. I bent to pick up his scattered belongings: his hat, a little satchel like the one Tommy used to have, and his book. The book was one of the five-cent novels written about Billy and I. I opened it enough to peek inside the front cover. Scrawled in cursive was the name Cyluss Fitzwilliam.

'_Whoever named this kid sure couldn't spell,' _I thought.

"I'm Serena Chavez, and this is my husband Jose," I introduced.

"P-Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Cyluss mumbled, taking his hat from me and twisting it in his grubby little hands.

I looked pleadingly at Chavez. I was unable to get pregnant and we had been discussing adoption for a while. We just knew there was a kid out there who needed us, and Cyluss sure as hell did. Chavez, understanding me, nodded his consent. I handed Cyluss the handkerchief so he could stem the flow of blood coming from his injuries.

"We're going home now, and you're coming with us, Cy," I said firmly.

"I'm both indebted and grateful to you and your husband, Mrs. Chavez," he said formally.

"Call me Serena," I said, leading him to our wagon.


	2. Chapter 2: Stitches and Dumplings

April 1st, 1880

A couple of hours later, we arrived at our ranch. Chavez got out of the wagon first, scooped me up in his arms, and gently lowered me to the ground. He unhitched the horse and took the reins in his hands, leading her to the barn and out of sight. Cy slowly clambered down from the wagon, his arms laden with my purchases.

"It's nice of you to offer, but I can take my things in later," I said. "Let's go take a look at that eye."

I walked Cy into the parlor and stood him in front of the ornate wall mirror. I carefully slid his spectacles off his face, laying them on a table for safekeeping, then I leaned toward him to get a better look. The injury was nastier than I'd originally thought; only a small portion of his eyebrow was completely intact and the cut was deep. I moved to a nearby cabinet and collected my sewing basket and a bottle of whiskey. I decided to patch Cy up on the porch, where I would have an easier time seeing. Poor little Cy was blind as a bat without his glasses, so I had to shepherd him outside. I sat him down on an old barrel and uncorked the whiskey.

"Keep your eyes closed," I instructed. I knew the stuff would probably burn his eyes if it got in them and so I rinsed the cut with great care. Then I threaded the needle. "This is probably going to hurt," I warned him. "But whatever you do, don't move."

I put a hand on top of his head to keep him in place and put the needle to his skin. Cy's behavior as I worked was eerie; he didn't wince when the needle went in or cry out when I started to sew. He sat like a statue, just taking everything. After what seemed to be hours of painstaking effort, the gash was closed, and because I'd used brown thread, you could hardly tell the stitches were there at all.

I took Cy back to the mirror, wiped the streak of blood off his glasses, and replaced them on his nose. Cy gaped at his reflection, apparently stunned by my handiwork. I dipped my hand into one of the brown paper bags from the store, producing a toffee wrapped in sticky paper. I presented it to Cy as a reward for his endurance of pain.

"Thank you, Mrs. Chavez," he said, toying uncertainly with the candy's wrapping.

"You're not hurt anywhere else, are you?" I asked, just to double-check.

Cy shook his head. "No, ma'am."

"Well, since you hit your head, I think it'd be a good idea for you to rest." I said. "Just lay down on that sofa out there and yell if you need me."

Cy obediently left the kitchen. I went back to the wagon to collect the food I'd purchased, only to discover Chavez had already unloaded everything and brought it to the pantry. I returned to the kitchen, made the dough for the dumplings, then started to core and peel a bushel of apples. I was concentrating so intensely that I jumped a mile when Chavez's face appeared in the kitchen window.

"_Querida,_" he said. "Where do you want me to put this?" He held up a freshly dressed sage hen.

"Get a fire going and put it on the spit, I guess," I replied. "Think I should start some potatoes, rice, corn, and bread?"

"No sense in doing that much cooking for three people."

"Yeah, but Cy looks like he hasn't eaten in a while," I pointed out. "What if the sage hen isn't enough?"

"Cross that river when you get to it, _Querida_." he said, walking away toward the fire pit.

I looked up at the sky, which was starting to turn orange. If we were going to have milk with our supper, I'd have to make a trip to the barn quickly. I dreaded going out there. I got on fine with most animals, but I hated our milk cow. She was downright mean and ornery. Almost every time I milked her, no matter how gentle I was, she'd try to kick. As I dragged my stool and bucket toward her, she mooed nastily, like she always did.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be," I said, pointing my finger at that cow.

She lost interest in me and started to eat some hay. I grasped her udder and tugged. Milk poured into the bucket, and the cow kept eating. I tried to hurry along before she finished the hay. Even though she bucked and stomped a little, I managed to keep most of the milk in the bucket. Proud of myself, I carried the bucket to the house and emptied it into a pitcher. I mashed some potatoes and put the dumplings in the oven. Once the table was set, I poked my head into the parlor to check up on Cy. He was resting comfortably on the sofa, busily reading the five-cent book he'd been so absorbed in at the train station.

"Are you doing all right in here, Cy?" I asked. He nodded. "Can I get you anything?" He shook his head. I glanced at the table beside him and noticed the toffee I'd given him was sitting there, still in its wrapper.

That was definitely odd. Most children I knew would have eaten the toffee immediately, then begged for a second piece. But maybe the kid just wasn't hungry. I shrugged it off and settled myself in an easy chair with one of John's massive leatherbound books. Reading was always a good way to pass the time when I had to wait for things to finish cooking...

-------

"Is something burning?" Cy's voice jerked me out of a trance.

I dashed into the kitchen and yanked the pan of dumplings out of the oven. I let out a discouraged sigh; they were darker than I ordinarily liked them to be. I let them cool a while, then decided to sample a dumpling to make sure they would taste all right. I took a bite of one. A little crispy, but still delicious.

"That smells wonderful," said Cy wistfully, leaning in the kitchen doorway.

"Have a taste then," I said. "I bet you're starved."

"No. I mean, yes. I mean...I am hungry, but...I really couldn't," Cy stammered. "I-I'd spoil my supper."

And I thought Dick Brewer had been uptight. I held the tray out to Cy and gave him a cheery wink. "I won't tell if you won't."

Hesitantly, Cy reached toward the tray. He picked up one of the dumplings and took a tiny bite off the corner. He must have thought it was good because he shoved the rest of it in his mouth at once. "These are good," he declared through his mouthful. His expression turned sheepish and he swallowed. "Sorry."

"Don't be," I said through the rest of my own dumpling.

Chavez came inside a few minutes later, bearing the sage hen. He too grabbed a dumpling from the tray. After another two dumplings each, the three of us sat down to eat the rest of our meal. Cy fell asleep almost immediately after cleaning his plate; it must have been a long time since he'd had a meal and actually felt full. Chavez and I tucked him into John's old bed, then went next door to our room.


	3. Chapter 3: Disappear and Reappear

April 2nd, 1880

The sky was still almost black when I awoke the next morning. I sat against my pillows and looked out the window, toying with my wedding ring. Although Chavez and I had not been married in a church, but by my medicine man father, we had purchased rings with some of the money John Tunstall had left me in his will so the nosy neighbors would have nothing to gossip about.

I felt so tired, but sleep refused to come. Thoughts were racing through my head, and I needed to share them with someone.

"Chavez?" I said.

"What?" he mumbled sleepily into his pillow.

"Are you sure we're doing the right thing?" I asked.

"Huh?"

"With Cy. Taking him in and all."

"Why are you second-guessing yourself about doing a good deed?" said Chavez, propping himself on an elbow to look at me better. "You and I both know what would have happened if you had ignored what went on at the train station."

"Yeah. He'd have ended up just like poor Tommy O'Folliard," I said, my voice heavy with emotion.

There were striking similarities between Cy and Tommy. Both were orphans, caught in the awkward stage of being older than a boy and younger than a man. They'd been taken from the orphanage by mistake, then forced to live on the streets. I had ended up taking both under my wing, though only one of them was still alive.

"But what if he doesn't like us?" I continued. "He acts so nervous. I think he's afraid to even look at us."

"Don't worry so much," said Chavez, starting to twirl a strand of my hair around his fingers. "He just needs time to get used to us."

"What if I'm not ready?" I fretted. "A year ago, a kid was the last thing on my mind, 'cause I was told I'd never have one of my own. And all of a sudden, Cy appears and he needs a home. What do I know about children, aside from the fact I used to be a child? What if I'm not a good mother? I mean, I used to be an outlaw. Hell, I've killed people. How can Cy grow up decent with my terrible influence?"

"_Querida, _I never want to hear you talk like that," Chavez said sternly. "What's done is done, you can't take it back now. More to the point, you are a wonderful woman. You put up with everything me and the other Regulators did and never lost your temper unless it was necessary. You and John took in young men who had gone astray just out of the goodness of your hearts. I think you'll be an outstanding mother."

"You honestly believe that?" I asked.

"Every word of it, because that's what made me fall in love with you."

I smiled and leaned in to kiss him. Our kiss deepened and before very long, Chavez was edging toward my side of the bed. He started to pull me close, but I placed a hand on his chest to hold him back.

"What's wrong?" he inquired.

"Cy's in the next room." I whispered. "What if he hears us and wakes up?" I could only imagine how humiliating _that_ would be for him.

"I doubt he will. Those adobe walls are probably a foot thick." Chavez pointed out.

"I don't want to risk it. Besides, it's almost dawn. The horses need grain, and I need to start cooking breakfast."

"Can we finish later?" Chavez asked hopefully.

"If I can get Cy out of the house long enough." I said.

---------------------

Once the sausages, hotcakes, and eggs were sizzling on the stove, I walked in the direction of John's old room.

"Cyluss!" I called through the door. "It's time to get up!"

No response came. I waited a minute, then knocked on the door. Still no answer. I pushed open the door, expecting to find him tucked into bed and soundly asleep. My heart nearly stopped with what I saw. Not only was Cy not sleeping in bed, it looked like the bed hadn't been slept in at all. Maybe he'd run off during the night and I hadn't heard him. That was a real possibility, given the fact I'm such a heavy sleeper. I dashed out into the hall, running headlong into Chavez's arms.

"Cy's gone," I said, almost in tears. "He must have run away."

"He's got to be around here somewhere, _Querida_," said Chavez. "I didn't hear him leave last night."

That made me feel better. Chavez was a very light sleeper, so he would definitely know if Cy had run off. We started to look around all the rooms in the house, even the pantry. The last place we checked was John's study; neither of us knew why he might be in there, but it was worth a try since we'd looked everywhere else. There was Cy, all right, sitting at John's desk with an open encyclopedia in front of him. I was torn between wanting to smother him with kisses because I was so relieved at finding him, and wanting to slap him for worrying me like that.

"Hello, Mrs. Chavez," he greeted.

"Hello, Cy." I said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, but something was very odd. My bed was soft."

Yeah, I guess that might be a shock to the system for someone used to sleeping on a damp floor. I know how long it took me to get used to sleeping in a real bed after almost two years of nights resting underneath my coat when I rode with the Lincoln County Regulators.

"But it didn't look like you slept in the bed," I said.

"I made it when I woke up," explained Cy, getting up and putting the encyclopedia in its proper slot on the shelf.

That was the neatest I'd ever seen one made. I never bothered to meticulously make my own bed since I'd just be collapsing onto it at the end of the day anyhow.

Cy walked over to the shelf again and started to bring down a leatherbound book that was almost as heavy as he was. Chavez caught it just before it fell on Cy.

Cy hung his head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I said. "You go with Chavez and wash your hands. It's almost time for breakfast."

Cy obeyed me and followed Chavez outside, coming back just as I was taking the hotcakes off the stove. I set platter of sausages and eggs down on the table and the hotcakes, along with some homemade fruit preserves, butter, and Vermont maple syrup to put on them. The hotcakes were the first thing Cy grabbed. He started gulping them down right away.

"These are delicious," he said in an awed voice.

"I aim to please," I said.

"So, Cy," said Chavez, "have you ever ridden a horse before?"

Cy shook his head.

"Would you like to learn?" Chavez asked.

"I suppose so," Cy answered.

"All right. _Querida _and I will teach you right after breakfast." Chavez declared.

"You mean after you wash the dishes," I countered. "It's your turn."

"Yes, after that, _Querida_." he said in a resigned tone.

Soon, all three of our plates were clean and in the sink. Cy watched nervously as Chavez began to rinse them. I noticed him sweating as the dishes were dried and put in the cabinet. I didn't pay attention to this; I assumed he was just excited. It wasn't until later I realized my assumption was wrong...


	4. Chapter 4: Riding Lesson

A/N: Apologies for the long hiatus, but I've been going on a ton of trips this summer. Kudos to all my reviewers. Keep the feedback coming!

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It wasn't until we were all in the barn that I realized we had a problem. Sparks Flying and Storm Cloud were both used to running because Chavez and I were experienced riders; I didn't know how they would react under the guidance of a nervous young boy. There was the carthorse, but she wasn't saddle-broken, so nobody could ride her. Now that I'd promised to teach Cy to ride, I couldn't very well go back on my word. I'd just have to choose between Sparks and Storm and pray for the best. I ended up deciding on Storm Cloud, since I knew his disposition more initmately than Sparks'.

Storm nickered to me from his stall. He stretched his neck out over the door, sniffing hard and interestedly in Cy's direction, his ears pricked forward. I walked into his stall with a brush, which I started to run over his coat. As I worked, I sang a Spanish love song Chavez had taught me called "_Cielito Lindo_." Somebody had told me once that if a high-spirited horse heard something soothing, it would become much more mellow. I had never tried it with Storm, but now was as good a time as any to do it.

I laid a saddle blanket over Storm's back and his ears swiveled backward. He knew what was coming next and he was not pleased with this knowledge. Undaunted, I kept singing as I lowered the saddle onto his back and started tightening the girth. Storm twitched, but he didn't try to bite. Quickly and efficiently, I tied the lattigo knot. Then I jiggled the saddle from side to side to make sure it was firmly in place. All I had to do after that was slip Storm's rope bridle over his nose.

I opened the stall door and led Storm out. Cy's expression was one of awe. I was used to that reaction; there aren't too many gray pintos in the New Mexico Territory.

"What a magnificent animal," Cy said at length.

"This is Storm Cloud," I introduced. "Now, the first thing you have to know is how to get on. Allow me to demonstrate."

Unable to resist showing off just a little, I signaled for Storm to gallop across the barn. I grabbed the saddlehorn, and with an effort, hoisted myself onto his back while he was still running. That little trick was one I had picked up from Billy and it had saved both of our lives more than once. I grinned at the disbelieving expression on Cy's face as I climbed down.

"Of course, you won't be doing that just yet," I said. "There's also this way..."

I stood to the side of Storm. In a fluid motion, I put my left foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddlehorn with both hands, and sort of vaulted myself aboard.

"Which is almost as hard as the first way," Chavez put in.

"Right." I agreed. "Which is why there's a third way. Put your left foot in the stirrup, grab the saddlehorn, and jump up there." I showed him what I meant. "Easy. Now it's your turn."

Cy looked a little uneasy about this prospect, so I clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Cy put his foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddlehorn, and started to bounce up and down. I don't know where he went wrong after that, but he missed the sitting down in the saddle part and fell onto the ground. He stood up with a bewildered, hurt expression on his face.

"Did you hurt yourself?" I asked.

"No, but I got dust all over my coat," moaned Cy, trying frantically to brush it off.

"You may get more on you before today's over, so just leave it." I advised. "Try it again."

Cy obeyed and actually landed in the saddle. He smiled proudly.

"Very good. To go left, pull the left rein," I instructed. "To go right, pull the right rein. To stop, pull back on both reins. It really doesn't get much more complicated than that. To get Storm to walk, nudge him with your heels. Just don't put your heels in him too hard."

"What happens if I--"

I tried to shake my head to stop him, but it was too late. Cy had dug his heels hard into Storm's sides and Storm was rocketing away toward the desert. Chavez leapt onto Sparks and chased after him, hollering, _"Atsay! Atsay!_" to no avail. Storm had been trained in Apache and English, not Navajo.

I clapped a hand over my mouth in horror as Cy slipped out of the saddle. Chavez grabbed Storm's reins and jerked them backward, causing to Storm to come to an abrupt hault. I ran toward Cy, still lying where he'd fallen.

"Are you all right?" I asked anxiously.

The only response I got was a faint moan. Chavez walked up beside me, leading both horses.

"How bad is he hurt?" he asked concernedly.

"I don't know." I bit my lip, fighting back tears and wondering why I had thought this would be a good idea in the first place.

I tried to calm myself. Panicking wouldn't help the situation in the least. But why was I? In my brief career as an outlaw, I'd seen people shot, stabbed, and beaten nearly to death. Why did the sight of a hurt little boy bother me so much? I quickly reminded myself that now was hardly the time to be pondering the answers to these questions.

Slowly and gently, I rolled Cy onto his back. His hazel eyes peered up at me with the same frightened look I'd seen the previous day at the train station. I held three fingers an inch from his nose.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" I asked.

He squinted. "Four."

At first I thought he'd hit his head really hard, but then I realized the fall had knocked his glasses off his face. Good thing too, or his face would've been cut up worse. I assessed the rest of the damage, but I didn't find any cuts or bruises that hadn't been there before. Damn, he was lucky.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?" asked Chavez.

Cy nodded. "Can I try riding Storm again?"

I smiled. "You little son of a gun."

It took a while for Storm to settle down again, but as soon as he had, we put him back in the saddle. He nearly fell off a few times until he learned how to balance himself and was a little unsure about guiding Storm, but overall, it was a respectable first attempt.


End file.
